Un Café Américain…
by en-lumine
Summary: ONESHOT. Post-TRAOD. Lara doesn't like bickering Americans, nor flowers. Or songs too, for that matter. She's warmed up to coffee, though. LC/KT drabble-ish. Rated T for mildly strong language. Please read and review! :)


*Peeks cautiously into this part of ff net *

Well hello, fine people :) I haven't been to this part of the website in ages – so most of you, fans of the reboot as well as the Legend-era may or may not remember me. That is completely fine, I have some very *cough* embarrassing TR fics under my belt, but I digress.

I'm a traditionalist when it comes to Tomb Raider games – and while I respect all opinions, my true Lara Croft remains the brazen, part-sociopath heroine from the Core Design games. And Angel of Darkness, to this day, remains perhaps one of the most intriguing storylines I've come across.

So naturally, when prompted with a Kurtis/Lara Parisian rendezvous scenario by my good friend, punkroseblitz, I responded immediately and why not? It is (original) Lara's 48th birthday today :P

So here, my friends, is a oneshot commemorating just that – with my very limited French knowledge (thank you Google Translate :D).

 **Just a note before we start -**

Un café Americain – "One American coffee" (in French, of course) ... [Also is that Lara's order? Kurtis? I don't know - you decide :P]

Also, there is some internal dialogue/thoughts. I've written those in _italics_ :)

Additionally, the oneshot features some lyrics of the song _"Les Champs Elysees"_ by _Joe Dassin_. Not entirely relevant to the story, but the translations' at the end.

 **Disclaimer: I own no one and nothing. Except for my sad little heart that's still rooting for some LC/KT love even after – what – 14 years? *sigh***

* * *

"Un café Américain…"

* * *

 **14th February, 2004.**

 **12.07PM.**

 **Paris.**

' _Je me baladais sur l'avenue le coeur ouvert à l'inconnu  
J'avais envie de dire bonjour à n'importe qui,_

 _N'importe qui….'_

Dassin's voice crooned about the famed avenue inside the bustling cafe, providing an unusual base to the loud chatter that now perverted the previously serene air.

Lara closed her eyes, and from the deepest recesses of her heart, regretted not arming herself for this particular, serendipitous sortie.

Who could blame her, though? All she wanted was one bloody cup of coffee.

"Ugh, Jen! What do you like, call soy milk in French?"

"Jeez, Sara, I don't—"

"God, like? Seriously?! You took French for like two years in high school!"

"Excusez-moi, madame," began the French cashier, as she glanced uncomfortably at the perpetually building queue behind the two, blonde bickering Americans. "Could you, please—"

Lara stood, staring murderously at the back of the two bobbing golden heads – counting the sheer number of ways she could wring their indecisive little necks with her bare hands, while cursing at them internally in every language she could think of.

If she never heard an American speak for the rest of her life, it'd be too soon.

Before she'd counted off the swear words in her mind and moved onto cracking knuckles as visible threat, the sleep-deprived raider heard the magical French words call out to her –

 _"Suivant, s'il-vous-plaît!"_ (Next, please!)

' _About god-damn time…'_

* * *

 **A few minutes later…**

"Had a feeling Metro wasn't your kinda place. But didn't peg ya for Starbucks, either."

That low, smooth American drawl – Lara's heart stopped as recognition dawned, slowly but surely.

 _'Damn those bloody Americans…'_

"Nice scarf, _Miss Croft_. Didn't know you celebrated Valentine's Day. And with such fervour…" The man smirked, eyes hinting so mischievously as he suggestively sipped his own café noir, Lara felt like punching him right there and then, in front of the packed coffee-house.

' _So the blue-eyed asshole survived. Inevitable. Prissy basta-'_

"Now, now. Play nicely."

Lara shot an aggravated look – mirroring annoyance and tiredness all at once toward the man. A faint voice reminded her of his telekinetic abilities, apparently now including Jedi mind-reading, and advised caution against him. But her youth's carefully curious play days were over. Now she settled her scores with grit and gore, whichever she saw fit, the devil may care.

She grabbed Kurtis by the front of his tattered jacket, and dragged him out the door of the café and into the alley beside.

The place reminded her of the area around Carvier's apartment – with dumpsters and graffiti being it's only adornments. Yet the area reeked more of coffee than garbage, thankfully – and the walls still did not drown out the lunch-time chatter, nor the crappy, upbeat song she was in no mood of hearing.

Apart from that, the stony, gray dullness quite suited Lara.

She was in no mood to play nice, as it was.

"I guessed as much." Kurtis flicked away her hand from his jacket, and leaned against the wall – arms folded across his broad chest as he looked quizzically at her.

 _'The nerve!'_ she thought furiously, feeling her eye quiver with anger. As if _she_ was the one who owed him an explanation!

"You are supposed to be dead," she shot icily, despite the heat of anger warming her inside.

"Hell yeah, I am. Deader than a doornail," he enunciated, raising a thick eyebrow with a lazy, careless nod of his head, before turning away to stare ahead. "And to the _right_ people, too – sure'd be great if it stays that way."

If her scalding hot beverage was not burning her fingers, Lara'd might have thrown it on his face for Trent's incessant sass. For one second, she imagined the skin and flesh melting off of that handsome, but a tad-too-pale face, before shaking herself out of the dark reverie. Instead, she banged her coffee cup on a piece of broken furniture lying just about; and in a lightning fast movement, pressed a forearm to his neck while twisting his arm – the one that was not in a cast.

"You have one, _ugly_ imagination, woman. Believe me when I say it."

"Who are you? Why are you here? State your business!" She applied more pressure on his neck, but she knew it was a poorly executed tackle – a pathetic ruse at showing her supposed toughness, nothing else.

"You're right. I can get out of _this_ in two seconds, but I won't. Maybe _that_ could help you sleep better at nigh-"

Lara grabbed him by his hair, and banged his skull into the concrete wall – hard enough to make his teeth chatter, and to shut him up. Hopefully, it wouldn't cause too grievous an injury.

Kurtis yelped upon impact, that much Lara expected. But came around much sooner than she'd have thought.

"Okay. First of all, that hurt, Croft," he winced, fixing his cerulean eyes on her ferocious brown glare. "Second, we've done this before – you heard me clearly back in the Strahov. Nothing's changed since."

Lara was not prepared to have any of it. She wanted to prove him wrong and prove that he _did_ harbour malicious intent against her – but the moment that she saw the sincerity in his eyes, she knew she was wrong. Karel's impersonation of him had been… well, as Trent just put it – deader than a doornail.

In a brief moment of clarity, she could swear she saw her past demons laugh at her; but the realisation lasted only the slightest, fleeting moment. Then, her old, familiar rationality set in.

The man before her was alive, if not entirely well. Flesh, bone and human skin – not the dying, withered husk of an abominable breed never meant to see the light of day.

The unbalanced, useless grip on his throat slackened, as Lara puffed out a growl in frustration and backed away – her body wrought with tension, as she prowled in front of Kurtis like a raging, caged animal. The man merely winced as he carefully touched the tender part of the back of his skull.

"You are supposed to be dead. There must have been _liters_ of blood in that arena. Took me three _fucking_ hours to search the entire behemoth complex, Kurtis. You-weren't-there!"

He held up his good hand, before placing it on her shoulder in a light, reassuring grip. The ex-adventurer noticed the smooth palm – and was immediately relieved at seeing no Nephilistic symbol engraved in the flesh.

"I'm here now, and I know you finished what I asked you to do." The playfulness was gone – and Lara finally saw the seriousness of the partner that had helped her take down the Cabal back in Prague, three weeks ago.

"That does not answer anything," Lara grumbled, fighting the urge to shrug off his hands and simply walk away from it all.

"It doesn't matter. I was injured, and I survived. It's done now, Lara; it's over. That's all that matters."

"Then why're you here? Why walk into my life again, _stranger_?" Lara hissed, with unfounded bitterness.

"Don't think I ever quite walked out, lady," Kurtis drawled, withdrawing his hand. He retrieved a cigarette and a lighter from his jacket instead – proceeding to light and smoke as he stood leaning against the wall.

The sight was painfully ordinary – and none of them drew any attention, much to Lara's comfort. She quietly sipped her luke-warm coffee, waiting for the stubborn American to make his point.

"The Shards?"

"Destroyed with whatever remained of Eckhardt's body."

He nodded soberly, continuing to inhale deeply from the cigarette, not meeting her gaze. "And the Chirugai?"

Lara leaned on one foot, and tapped it impatiently. She was tired of his games. "I assume you mean your bladed-flying-disk-thingy-"

With a barely noticeable flick of his fingers, the said weapon sprung to life from the backpack behind her, shredding leather as it sailed into its owner's outstretched hand.

"Terrific. Now you owe me a backpack," Lara fumed, rolling her eyes at Kurtis' lack of warning.

The Lux Veritatis gave a wry, lop-sided smirk, as he turned to face her, his expression impish, in spite of a feverish glow.

"You're a rich woman, Lady Croft. You can afford another one," he said teasingly, as he holstered the weapon to his belt, concealing it underneath a long coat. The action, as unsuspecting as it was, seemed to have brought on a sudden wave of excruciating pain; for Kurtis now stood, half bent at the waist clutching his torso, eyes and jaws clenched and visibly in agony.

"You haven't fully recovered from – well, whatever the hell you were fighting, anyway…"

Kurtis nodded, lowering his head, as he began to relax. "It'll take a while. I'll manage." He whispered, voice slightly strained – though Lara could tell from his position that the worst of the pain was gone.

It was her turn to nod in return now, seeming that there now remained no reason for the two to keep company of each other, any further.

Nevertheless, the coffee, the cigarette smoke – the wintry chill, all produced a mystifying effect, as if time just stood still in between the duo this gray, February day. Oddly enough, she did not want to write the stranger named Kurtis Trent off with any sense of finality just yet. The exchanges may have been made, but Kurtis' chapter was not over yet.

"Are you- going to be okay, Trent?" she asked cautiously, unsure of where she wanted to steer the conversation.

The question brought about a laugh from the American – a deep, low chuckle that was as sudden as it was disbelieving. With a hand still clasping a side, Kurtis rolled back entirely to lean against the wall, his mirth finally subsiding as he flicked at his cigarette to shake off the ash build-up.

He had a nice smile, Lara concluded to herself, nearly smiling back herself - as uncharacteristic as it was. Hunting down the murderer of his father and his biblical cronies, surviving as the last of an ancient order, this battle-worn former-mercenary and soldier – what even made her ask such a question?

"As long as my landlord Maurice doesn't know I'm behind on four months of rent, I'll be fine."

"Send me the cheque; I'm feeling altruistic today. Might even buy you another cup of coffee."

"Save it, Croft. I don't need your charity – I'm leaving this hell-hole, anyways," he smiled back, before puffing at his nearly finished cigarette again. "Some small ends need tidying – to finish up this whole mess for once and for all."

"An ages old shadow war," murmured Lara softly, and in wonderment. "So many casualties…"

"It's done, Lara," he repeated. "An anti-climatic ending, some might think. Not me, though. I'm done with this shit., I'm out..." After a pause, he glanced at her directly in the eyes. "Again, have no titles nor fortunes to confer on you as a token of appreciation of the Lux Veritatis, but I do thank you for all your help."

"Dear God, Trent - are you this mind-numbingly dull with every girl you talk to?"

"Only the special ones," he replied slyly, before putting out the butt of the cig with his boot, and pulling her unexpectedly into an embrace. Lara stood awkwardly frozen, as he planted a soft kiss beside her temple. He let go before she could get a chance to respond.

Oddly enough, the awkwardness suited her just fine. So long as she didn't have to think about what came next for her…

"T's the only gift I can afford right now, Croft," Kurtis spoke, eyes warmly gazing into hers, both hands holding hers in a gesture that almost reminded her of… Winston.

And… home.

"Utterly charmed, cheapskate," Lara replied back, fighting and failing against an impish grin herself.

"Well, I _did_ see a flower cart on my way here –"

"Good grief – I'm practically _indebted_ you decided against getting me _flowers_ , Kurtis," Lara groaned, the mere thought of the act nauseating the hardened raider.

When was the last time she received flowers anyway, the woman thought to herself. Ahh, yes.. A fancy wreath on the memorial commemorating her death in the Croft Manor courtyard from some forgotten charity. One that had been _so tastefully_ sent, after she had returned from Egypt. _Not dead._

' _No. Flowers won't do at all.'_

"Gimme some credit, Croft. I'm cheap, not an idiot," Kurtis drawled, putting his hands in his coat pockets before taking a few steps back, going toward the other end of the alleyway. The lingering, awkward meeting was over – but it was still a farewell Lara wasn't quite sure she was willing to bid just yet.

"Until we meet again - au revoir, mademoiselle! And a very, happy birthday…"

And with a very familiar two-fingered salute, the American turned the corner, and jogged out of sight – leaving Lara disarmed, in more ways than one, in that desolate little, junk-yard alley.

' _Au soleil, sous la pluie, à midi ou à minuit  
Il y a tout ce que vous voulez aux Champs-Elysées…'_

It definitely wasn't Champs Elysées, but this little rendezvous at this little nameless avenue had it's own little place in Lady Croft's eyes.

* * *

Well.. Tehehe xD

The translations:

 **(lyrics at the start):**

 ** _'Je me baladais sur l'avenue le coeur ouvert à l'inconnu  
J'avais envie de dire bonjour à n'importe qui,_**

 ** _N'importe qui….'_**

'I was walking on the avenue my heart opened to the unknown

I wanted to say hello to anyone,

Anybody….'

 **(lyrics at the end):**

 ** _Au soleil, sous la pluie, à midi ou à minuit_**

 ** _Il y a tout ce que vous voulez aux Champs-Elysées…'_**

'In the sun, in the rain, at midday or midnight There anything you want at Champs Elysées ... '

I would appreciate any and all feedback on this, and sincerely hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this! Happy Valentines Day, folks! :)


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